UNKNOWN [Lestappen]

A/N:

Hellooo everyone!!

I hope you enjoy the new chapter! ^_^

Charles' POV:

It had been three months.

Three months of dragging myself through the same miserable routine, plastering on the same neutral smile, and pretending to give a shit about things I couldn't care less about.

Today would be my last day.

Everything felt gray, dull, lifeless, heavy. The mornings were the worst. Waking up felt like a punishment, the start of another endless cycle of nothingness. I'd stare at the ceiling, wishing for the strength to just... not get up.

But I always did, somehow. Even when my legs felt like lead, even when my chest was weighed down by all these sick fucking feelings.

My room felt colder, emptier than usual. The posters on the wall, the scattered clothes, the books I used to care about, they all felt like things of someone else's life. I let my gaze linger on the small desk by the window, the chair pulled out just enough to remind me of the nights I used to sit there, writing meaningless essays or sketching for no one but myself.

"Goodbye," I whispered to the desk, to the room, to everything I'd once thought would be part of a future that no longer existed.

I left my room, pausing for a moment to glance at the door, my hand resting on the handle. The urge to stay, to sit on that bed and let the world keep spinning without me, was strong. But I shook it off.

I made my way down the hall to the front door, but not before pausing in the kitchen. I thought about what meals used to be like. Laughter, conversation. Now, it was silence or scolding. Nothing in between.

"Goodbye," I whispered.

I was walking through the school corridors, my head down, hood pulled up to hide my face. It was the end of the day, another day I had to endure. It felt like all the rest.

And It would be my last.

The buzz of conversations and slamming lockers around me blurred into a dull hum, like white noise. It was easier that way, ignoring the world, pretending I wasn't even there. My feet carried me to my locker, and I swapped out a couple of books, slung my bag over my shoulder, and started walking.

Whilst pacing down the corridor, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him.

Max.

He was at his locker, his back to me as he shoved some books inside. His hair was a little messier than usual, falling into his eyes. 

God, he still looked perfect. Too perfect.

This would be the last time I lay my eyes on him.

That same ache that always hit me when I saw him returned. I hated myself for it. For still feeling anything for him after everything. I always reminded myself, he didn't care. He never had. And knowing that always extinguished whatever pathetic spark of hope tried to ignite.

And Max had found out. Of course he had. Thanks to Daniel.

Max knowing was like a nail in the coffin of whatever fragile thing I'd built inside myself. It didn't matter anymore, my love for him.

I didn't matter anymore. I would kill myself today, and he wouldn't even care. His world would keep spinning.

"Goodbye Max," I whispered.